Series of One-shots (Based off of Another Watson)
by Eruaphadriel-99
Summary: Just like the title says, based off of my other story, Another Watson, for those who wanted to see more fluffy moments between Elizabeth and Sherlock, and wanted some cases/other things, that were mentioned, but never made the final cut. (I don't own anything except for Elizabeth, and some of the plots) (You don't really have to read AW, to read these, but it might help a little)
1. Taking a Sick Day

**Whoo, it's finally up! I'm doing it!**

 **So, this was just something that I came up with at the last minute. I know almost every one shot book has this plot, but I love it, and I think it's a good starter for me :)**

 **Like I mentioned before, in my story, these will be completely out of order, so in one they may be married, but in another they may be just friends, or just flatmates, or still dating, I'm not really doing anything in chronological order, here.**

 **Also, if there was something that was mentioned in Another Watson that you want me to write, shoot me a PM or a review, and I would be more than happy to write it for you!**

 **Anyway, here ya are! Enjoy!**

~Taking a Sick Day~

Sherlock had been lost in that morning's paper, drinking the morning tea Mrs. Hudson had brought up every morning (though he didn't know it). John had already gone to work, leaving the flat completely silent. Which was too quiet.

Sherlock glanced around the living room, then peeking into the kitchen, trying to find out just what was off, and that was when he checked the clock, mentally kicking himself for not realizing it before.

It was 10:30 in the morning, and his flatmates sister was up no later than 9:30, usually making herself some breakfast, sometimes watching telly, thought she was usually very quiet herself, only wishing Sherlock a good morning, and asking if he slept well, and wondering if her ahd any set plans for the day. The she went about her day, reading, helping him with cases if he needed it, going out for a case with him sometimes, but other than that, there was rarely ever any communication. It had worried John and Mrs. Hudson at first- they thought she didn't like him, but Sherlock knew she was staying silent out of respect, and if Sherlock wasn't working, she would carry on a conversation with him, usually about music, sometimes he helped her on her psychology homework, or art, which Sherlock learned Elizabeth had a great passion for.

And as antisocial as Sherlock was, and no matter how deep in thought he may have been in, he actually liked those morning questions, Elizabeth checking up on him, and he missed them, along with the companionship she offered, even if they weren't speaking, he liked her presence. He didn't know what it was about it, but it was...calming, in a way.

He decided to give it another hour, try not to be bothered by it, and went on with his morning.

By 11:30, Elizabeth still hadn't come downstairs, so Sherlock decided to go and check on her, ask if she was alright, if she wanted anything for breakfast _That was the polite thing to do, right?_ He thought, kicking himself, mentally, again, for not knowing, but she had always done it for him, why couldn't he do it for her?

He took the stairs to her room as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake his flatmate if she was still sleeping soundly, and finally he reached her bedroom door.

it was cracked open, letting a little sliver of light into the bedroom, and Sherlock peeked in, whispering her name. when she didn't respond, he pushed the door open more, the light now revealing her bed, with a pile of pillows and blankets on top of it, and her nightstand, which was covered in tissues that didn't quite make it to the waste basket beside of it.

The blob of blankets moved slightly, so Sherlock whispered again.

"Elizabeth?" he asked. "Are you awake?" He heard her groan, in response. "Are you alright?"

"I don't feel good." She whinned, like a child, and Sherlock could practically hear her pouting.

"Do you want anything?" He asked, awkwardly, really unsure of what to do.

Elizabeth poked her head out from underneath the blanket, mussed, blond curls covering her face like a curtain. She wiped them away with her hand, lazily. She stared at him for a few seconds, before making her request.

"Could you, maybe, make some soup?" She asked, as if it was too much. Sherlock almost sighed, but reminded himself that he did, in fact, ask.

"Of course." He smiled, and she sent him a tired smile as well, sinking back into the blanket, sneezing, violently, on her way.

Sherlock grabbed a can of Elizabeth's favorite soup, and poured in into a pot, putting it on the stove, meanwhile, making some tea for the both of them.

Elizabeth trudged down the stairs sometime later, in fuzzy pajama pants, and a sweater hanging loosely over her tiny frame, a blanket in her hand. She plopped down on the couch, then looked at Sherlock, who was at his laptop, while he waited for the soup to cook.

"You don't mind if I lay down here, do you. I would like some company." She admitted, shyly. Sherlock shook his head.

"Not at all." He almost smiled when she did. Elizabeth wrapped herself in her blanket, waiting patiently for her soup and tea.

A few minutes later, Sherlock poured the soup into a bowl, and grabbed her mug of tea, which was made exactly how she liked it.

"Be careful, they're still hot, so-" He stopped when he reached the couch and saw Elizabeth sleeping, her nose red, and more than likely raw, from sneezing, and blowing it so much, her eyes red and puffy, almost as if she had been crying instead of coughing, and her mouth hung open slightly, making it easier for her to breath. Sherlock imagined that it was almost impossible to get any oxygen through her nose, considering how stopped up she sounded.

A corner of Sherlock's mouth tugged up in a half smile, as he took the soup back to the kitchen, saving it for later, while drinking the tea for himself.

Elizabeth had slept most of the day, and when she woke up, Sherlock convinced her to take her temperature.

"I don't have a fever." She tried to reason, even though she was shivering, violently. Sherlock sighed, and walked forward, placing the back of his hand to her forehead, lightly, then to each cheek, looking at her.

"Elizabeth, you're burning up."

The thermometer beeped, and Elizabeth looked at it first, sighing, as Sherlock took it from her hands.

101.3

He smirked, as she pouted, shivering slightly, as Sherlock walked to the bathroom to get a cold rag for her forehead, sending a message to Lestrade on his way, that he won't be doing anything else for him today, deciding to stay home and watch Elizabeth (because John would have a fit if she was left here alone, and it seemed like the right thing to do…)

Lestrade called him five minutes later, attempting to persuade him to help, but Sherlock turned him down again, and again.

"How come?" Lestrade asked. Elizabeth sneezed again, coughing afterwards.

"I'm taking a sick day."


	2. Halloween

**Sorry this one is kind of late… I meant to post it, but I forgot…**

 **Halloween themed, something I've never done another story read along time ago (I can't remember what it was called), and from a friend, who brought it up in a conversation about Sherlock, and it was just too fun to talk about, and to think about, for me not to write, so here it is!**

 **Not all of these will be in third person, just these first two, and maybe some afterwards, but the next one I have is going to be in first, and is kind of funny, referencing a chapter in Another Watson, so I am super excited!**

(While they are engaged)

"Sherlock, come on."

"No."  
"Please."

"No."

I sighed. "Why not?" I asked.

"It's childish."

"It's fun."

"For children. Who are you, anyway?

"Exactly. You'll have a blast!" Elizabeth said. "You're acting like a toddler. And I'm Cinderella, isn't it obvious?" She explained, with a twirl, proud of my costume. Sherlock, though, was pouting in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest, his lips in a out as well, slightly.

"Fine." Elizabeth said, giving up. "Stay up here, pout, be boring. I'm going downstairs to hand out candy." She stomped out of the flat, trying not to trip over her dress on my way down the stairs.

Sherlock stayed for a while, listening to the chatter and laughter coming from the streets.

He sat for ten minutes, about, thinking, debating, before finally giving in. With a sigh, he rose from his char, deciding to do this for his fiancee, no other reason, walking towards the bedroom, and picking up the costume from the bed.

He took a deep breath, contemplating on going back upstairs, but decided not to, swinging to door open, and walking outside. Elizabeth turned and gasped.

"I thought you said this was childish. and you've even dressed up." Sherlock came outside, dressed as the Prince, but was absolutely miserable. "What changed your mind?"

"Bored." He responded.

Elizabeth laughed, wrapping her arms around his arm, squeezing it. A few kids across the street spotted up, and grabbed their parent's arms pointing. Sherlock didn't pay them any mind, he didn't say anything, but he saw Elizabeth smiled wider, and waved at them, the smallest daughter waving back, making her way across the street (there was barely any traffic), dragging her parents and brother with her.

Once she reached them, Elizabeth bent down to her level, placing some candy in her basket.

"Cinderella!" she exclaimed, her voice high and squeaky, and it counded as if she had just learned to talk.

"Hello." Elizabeth smiled, proceeding to talk to the little girl, her brother, who wasn't much older than she was, coming from behind her, and she joined him in on the conversation as well, all three of them grinning from ear to ear.

"She's good with kids, your wife." The father commented. Sherlock sent him a tight lip smile, then turned away, not wanting to engage in any conversation, nor wanting, really to correct him. He only nodded, though, after turning back to Elizabeth and the two children, watching the two children giggle at something she had said, and she laughed a little as well.

"Yes, she is." he voiced his agreement.

"Do you have any?" He asked.

"No." Sherlock answered, wondering why he even cared.

"Ah, well," The man sighed. "She would make a great mother."

Sherlock nodded, again, agreeing with him. Sherlock could tell that she loved children, no matter how much she denied it, she adored them, and she was so caring, and compassionate. She would make a great mother. But him as a father…

He shuddered, shaking off the thought, before focusing again on Elizabeth, as she waved at the little kids, walking away with their parents, rising up from the ground, back to her true height.

"Oh, this." Sherlock heard someone say. he spun around to see Lestrade walking towards them. "You two are adorable. Mind if I get a picture."

"Not at all. "Elizabeth said, before Sherlock could pretest. "As long as you send it to me."

"Of course."

Elizabeth posed beside of him, but Sherlock made no effort, just standing where he was, dead faced.

Lestrade smiled, mischievously, as he sent it to Elizabeth, and typed some more after her name, definitely more contacts.

Oh joy...

They were swarmed by more kids, all gathering around the bowls of candy for a few more hours, before the sun began to set lower, and it got colder than it was before.

"Darn." Elizabeth sighed, looking at her bowl.

"What?"

"Looks like I'm at the bottom. Mrs. Hudson, do you have any more bags inside?" Mrs. Hudson shook her head.

"Sorry, dear. John had the last bag."

Sherlock had just noticed his flat mate, who was dressed as a scarecrow, hay sticking from his sleeves, and hat.

"It's getting kind of dark anyway." Elizabeth shrugged. THe crowd on the street had shrunk considerably, so they decided to go inside for the rest of the night.

John, though, didn't change from his costume. Instead he grabbed his keys and phone, and his coat.

"I'm heading over to Jeanette's." he announced. "She's having a Halloween party."

"Have fun." Elizabeth called from the bathroom, as she washed the rest of her makeup off, while Sherlock made his way to the bedroom to get rid of the ridiculous costume.

He met Elizabeth in the living room. She was in his chair, wrapped in a blanket, already in her pajamas.

"Which one first?" He asked, nodding to the large amount of horror movies on the table, as Sherlock moved the coffee table, in order to move the couch closer to the TV, something they always did when watching a movie. Elizabeth studied each of the movies carefully, before smiling, holding one of them up.

"This one." She put the DVD in, and settled beside Sherlock on the couch, putting a pillow in her lap.

Sherlock noticed that, throughout the movie Elizabeth scooted closer and closer, not noticing she was doing so, most likely out of fear, Sherlock guessed. When she knew he was looking, she looked brave, as if she wasn't frightened in the least, but when he peeked at her without her noticing, she looked as if she were going to scream the whole time, and pulled the pillow to her face during a jump-scare, which made Sherlock chuckle, quietly.

They went through several movies, each worse than the last, in Sherlock's opinion, but Elizabeth seemed to enjoy them all, which made it worth it, a little, in the end.

Sherlock turned to Elizabeth as the end credits for the last movie were rolling.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his fiancee practically shaking.

"Mmhmm." She yawned. "I think I'm going to head on to bed." She announced. Sherlock nodded.

"Alright. I've still got some work to do, so I'll be up late."

"Ok." she said, yawning again.

"You're not going to be scared?" He joked, and she threw her pillow at him, hitting him in the face. he laughed.

"No." she grumbled. "I'll be fine." She wrapped herself in her blanket, and walked back to the bedroom.

Sherlock sat in his chair, on his laptop for a few more hours, before being distracted by the bedroom door opening slowly, and a sleepy Elizabeth emerging, her blanket still wrapped around her, tightly, and her arms curled in front of her as she shuffled, quickly down the hallway. once she got closer, Sherlock saw that her face was pale, and she was fidgeting with the edge of her blanket, her movements jerky.

"Can't sleep?" he asked, as if he didn't notice any of it. She shook her head.

"Bad dream." She answered, quietly, her voice trembling a little. "Is it alright if I stay in here with you?" She asked.

"Of course you can. I don't mind at all. You do live here, after all." he reminded.

"I just didn't want to distract you." She admitted, sitting on the edge of the couch. Sherlock turned back to his laptop, typing some more, before glancing up at Elizabeth. her eyes seemed heavy, anthey remained closed longer than normal whenever she blinked, obviously she was exhausted, yet she continued to fight sleep.

"You should get some sleep." Sherlock advised. She nodded, and Sherlock went back to his work.

When he looked up, he found her back in the same state-fighting sleep. He sighed.

"Elizabeth, you need to sleep."

"I'm not tiered."

He almost laughed, but he held it back as best as he could. "Yes you are, I can tell." He said. She looked away, back to the fireplace. Sherlock sighed, walking back to the bedroom and grabbing her pillow, and another blanket, before wrapping the second blanket around her shoulders, sitting beside her, handing her the pillow. She instantly leaned against him, resting her head on his chest, as her wrapped an arm around her.

They sat there for a few minutes, before Sherlock realized Elizabeth had fallen asleep, and there was no way to move without waking her up. He sighed, and sunk the best he could into the couch, leaning his head on the back of it, falling asleep himself.

 **Sorry about the crap ending. It was going somewhere, but then I got distracted….I lost my idea, but I wanted to get something up for Halloween!**

 **The next chapter will actually be a story which was referenced in Another Watson from the Irene Adler case, which I am super excited about!**

 **Anyway, sorry, again, about the ending, and I hope all is well.**

 **Next chapter of Another Watson will be up super soon. I kind of neglected it for a while, but I'm back!**


	3. Awkward

I shrugged my coat on, quickly, shoving my phone in my pocket.

"I shouldn't be gone too long. Might get some lunch myself. Want me to pick you up something?" I asked.

"No, that's fine." Sherlock replied.

"Do you even know what John would want?" Sherlock shrugged, not offering any suggestions.

My brother had forgotten to get some lunch on his way to work, and asked me to bring him something, since I had nothing else to do today.

I decided to stop and get two sandwiches from Speedy's to take.

When I got there, I hurried to his office, sending a smile to a couple of patients, and one to Sarah, who stopped me at the desk.

"Hey." She grinned.

"Hi. I was just taking John some lunch, if that's alright. He's not with a patient or anything, is he?" I asked. She shook her head.

"No, not that I know of, but you're more than welcome to go on back."

"Great. Doesn't look very busy today." i said, glancing around the waiting room, which held two patients, an older man, and a tiny child with her mother. Sarah shook her head.

"Hasn't been all week." She explained with a shrug. "Last week, though, we were overflowing.

"Oh, yeah, John told me. Said he couldn't catch a break."  
"Yeah, worked all through his lunch."

"So this is good, then?" I guessed. She chuckled, with a nod.

"This is heaven-sent, yeah." I laughed along with her, as a female sigh filled the room. Sarah gave me a look, her laughter dying, while I closed my eyes and sighed.

"What was that?" She asked. I reached into my pocket, and pulled out Sherlock's cellphone instead of mine.

"Someone changed Sherlock's ringtone while he wasn't paying attention."I explained, though I knew it was Irene.

"I accidentally grabbed the wrong phone and I have no idea how to change it."  
She laughed. "Must be fun with him in public, then, huh?"

"Fun is not the word I would use."

She sighed. "Oh, well, I'd better get back to work. You know where John's office is, yeah?" She asked, and I nodded. "Alrighty. Text you later. Well, you know, on _your_ phone."

I laughed, "Yes, please." She walked away, laughing.

I made my way to John's office, made sure he wasn't with a patient, before walking in.

"I have food!" I announced, holding the bag up in the air. John smiled.

"Great, I'm starving." He dug into the bag as soon as I put it down, grabbing his sandwich. I sat in a chair, and pulled mine out as well, taking a bite.

"Are you sure it's okay to eat in here?" I asked. John nodded.

"I disinfected."  
"Great."

We ate for a while in silence, until Sherlock's phone rang again, loudly. John stared at me and laughed into his sleeve, as the phone rang again, and then again, and then again. I knew people outside of the door could hear it, and my cheeks went red as the phone rang a fourth, fifth, then sixth time before I could turn it down. John's face was red from laughter.

Joh lunch break was over, and I walked out of the room, with out trash.

When I closed the door, a few doctors, who had congregated at the end of the hallway, turned to stare, going silent. Sarah, who was among them, laughed, and mouthed, "Your phone...they heard."

My jaw dropped, and I tried to explain, but nothing came out. Sarah tried not to laugh as I held up the Speedy's bag.

"We...I just brought lunch….we….nothing…" I laughed nervously, before giving up, smiling. "Have a nice day, and hurried out."

When I got home, I threw Sherlock's phone at him, telling him what happened.

"Sherlock, please, this isn't funny." I begged. he laughed a little harder. "I'm serious, I was so embarrassed. I can never go back. Ever!"

"Elizabeth, calm down."  
"I can't! It was awful! You would be embarrassed too." Sherlock shook his head. "Maybe not as embarrassed, but you would be at least for a second!"

"Maybe." He agreed. I sighed, slumping in John's chair, covering my face with my hands, groaning.

"Elizabeth, it's alright. You're making it a bigger deal than it has to be. They'll forget, or John will explain, or Sarah. It's fine."

I glared at him through a crack in my fingers.

"No."

"Fine, be sour about it." He said. "You're being so silly."  
"I'm not being silly."

Sherlock remained silent, and I took my hands off of my face to look at him. He was staring at me, one eyebrow raised.

"What? I'm not."

"Alright." He said, picking his book back up from the arm of the chair, and continuing to read. I sighed, trading his phone out for mine, and starting a game.

John arrive home later on that evening, a smile on his face.

"You're big news at the surgery." He told me. I sighed, stomping to the bedroom.

"I'm going to bed." I grumbled. I could hear John's high pitched laugh, and Sherlock's low baritone chuckle, as I shut the door, and burrowed underneath the blankets, before laughing a little myself.

 **This is a shorter one, but I was rereading, and there was a bit where it mentioned Elizabeth accidently grabbing Sherlock's phone, thinking it was her own, and this came to me, and I fell in love with it.**

 **Got a few reviews, and I like to respond to them in my A/N's, so here we go!**

 **** _ **RLMW:Pretty pretty please write more of these they're so cute**_

 _ **RLMW:Also if you haven't watched BBC's merlin you should it's another great series that could use a add in female character**_

 **Hi! Thank you so much for a review, and I hope you love this one as well!  
I HAVE seen BBC's Merlin, and I ADORE it! I'm not very far into it, only about the middle of Season 1, I think (It's been a while), but I love it, and want to watch more (Netflix is being silly, and I've been trying to catch up on The Walking Dead, and Game of Thrones) **

**But I WILL get back into it, and I will ABSOLUTELY add a female character! I never really thought about it, but it's a great idea! Thank you!**

 **I hope you like this one shot like you did the others. not a lot of Elizabeth/Sherlock, but still a little funny, I think, although I can't talk, I'm the one who wrote it, so of course I think it is. :)**

 **Thank you for the reviews, and for the Merlin idea! I'm super excited to get back into it, and hopefully write a fanfiction! Thank you, again!**

 **~Eruaphadriel**


	4. Questions & Puns (2 in 1)

_A wonderful collection of OTP questions, that I turned into a prompts for an imagine._

 _A lot of these are really funny, and I giggled a little to myself while writing._

 _I have another one coming up, that I'm really excited about, as well, so stay tuned!_

"Sherlock." I whispered, poking his ankle with my big toe. When he didn't move, I nudged his hip with my own.

"Sherlock." I said again. He sighed.

"What?" he grumbled.

"I was thinking-"

"Oh, God, no."

"-how far is the moon from the earth?" I wondered.

"Google it." Came his reply.

"My phone's dead." I reminded him. I had complained about it, and about leaving my charger at his parent's house.

"Oh, well that's too bad,"

"I know you don't know much about the Solar System, but I thought you might have an idea."

"Nope."

"Really?" I asked.

He stayed silent, thinking, then he answered.

"Thousands of miles away. Goodnight, Elizabeth." And he rolled back over.

I stayed awake, staring out of the window at the stars. I nudged him again.

"What now?" He asked, annoyed.

"How many different constellations are there?" I asked him. He was annoyed, but I wanted to know, and I would forget to ask in the morning.

"No idea. Go to sleep."

"I can't sleep."

"Well, do that silently."

I rolled over, frowning, and tried to sleep again.

When I opened my eyes, not even an hour had passed. I sighed, aggravated. I just wanted to sleep.

Instead, it thought, staring out of the window.

An hour later, I poked Sherlock's cheek.

"Hey, sweetie?" I asked.

"What do you want now? This better be bloody important." he grumbled.

"I closed my eyes before asking my questions.

"Why do you think they say the F-word so much on "De-" the rest of my question, and my cry of surprise, was muffled as a pillow slammed into my face. I forced the pillow off, and sat up, glaring at Sherlock.

"Hey!" I exclaimed. Sherlock closed his eyes with a smile, his pillow missing, so his arm snaked over, and took mine. "Sherlock, seriously?" I asked.

"Yoiu wouldn't stop talking. I wanted to sleep." I picked his pillow off of the ground. "Good night Elizabeth, my beautiful darling wife."

"Shut. Up."

 _Who in your OTP asks the weird questions in the middle of the night, and who hits the other person in the face with a pillow? - Sweet-bitsy_

* * *

Sherlock sat across from me at the dining table, eating his breakfast slowly, reading that morning's paper while I ate and read a random book I had gotten from the shelf, trying to take an interest in it, but nothing.

"What are you reading?" Sherlock asked, not taking his eyes from the paper. Now, having the grandfather I did, and seeing the word 'anti-gravity' everywhere, I began my awful streak.

"A book about anti-gravity. It's impossible to put down." i said, and giggled a little.

"Really?" Sherlock asked. "Puns?"

"Too early?" I wondered.

"It's always too early for puns, Elizabeth." he shook his head, only fueling me to make more through the day.

I begged Sherlock to g o with me shopping to get a few things for the flat. Cleaning supplies, some folders and boxes to store things away.

Of course, while we were on our way to check out, John sent me a list of things he wanted us to pick up.

"Is he serious?" Sherlock asked, obviously regretting following me on this trip.

"I guess so. Come along, Holmes." I said, turning around, and heading back to the shelves, hunting the things John requested.

Included in the list was a calender to track the days, and keep up with major events, something we neglected to buy at the beginning of the year. I let Sherlock carry that one, so he wasn't just following like a lost puppy.

We put everything on the table to check out, and as the clerk reached the last item, I suddenly remembered the calendar, and turned to Sherlock.

"Calendar." I said, holding out my hand. "Wouldn't want to walk out of here without paying for that. Last time I stole a calendar, I got twelve months." The clerk laughed, and I did the same, looking at Sherlock, who wasn't finding the humor in my joke.

"Get it, because-"  
"I get it. No good."

I looked at the clerk. "He secretly likes my puns." I said, and she smiled.

"Not when you've been making them all morning." Sherlock said, strolling out of the store, not having any business left in there.

"That's the second one I've made today!" I called after him.

~*~  
I scrolled through the channels, before giving up, throwing the remote to John's chair.

"Nothing on."

"There are several programs on, I just watched as you flicked through all of them." Sherlock pointed out.

"Nothing _good_ is on. But I guess television is a medium. Anything well done is rare." I pressed my lips together and closed my eyes, not wanting to laugh at my own joke, but I couldn't help it.

"Elizabeth." I heard Sherlock sigh. "How many more of these do you have."

"Tons."

I picked the paper up that Sherlock passed to me, my eyes scanning for the article he mentioned. Instead, I saw the opportunity.

"Aw, here, did you hear about this?" I asked, pointing to a random article.

"What is it?"

"An italian chef, had a terminal illness."

"What about him?"

"He pastaway."

"No."

I watched as Sherlock became more and more annoyed with the experiment on the kitchen table.

He sighed, pushing himself away from the microscope, and ruffled his hair a bit, before putting it on the table.

"No luck?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"I'm sorry." I said, putting a hand on his back, rubbing it a bit. "You know, I would tell you a chemistry joke, but, given your annoyance at my other jokes, I don't think it would get a reaction."

I pressed my lips together, as Sherlock sat up slowly, looking at me.

"Sorry." I laughed, and left to get ready for bed, not letting him say a word.

I was almost asleep, when I heard Sherlock sigh. Worried, I sat up, and looked down at him.

"What?" I asked, seeing the smile forming on his face.

"'Pastaway.'" He grinned, shaking his head. I hit his chest lightly.

"I _knew_ you thought they were funny!" I exclaimed, and he shushed me.

"You'll wake up John." He said. I put my head back on his chest.

"Pastaway...that's my favorite."

"Do you have anymore?" He asked. I smiled.

"I thought you'd never ask."

 _Which one would tell horrible puns, and which would groan but secretly think they're funny?- unknown_


	5. Valentine's Day

_Hello again! How are you?_

 _So I did some+ Elizabeth and Sherlock Valentine's Day scenarios, because I love them, and I thought of a few with the help from OTP Prompts on Tumblr (Seriously, go and follow them! They have some of the cutest prompts!)_

 _But I didn't get to post it on Valentine's Day like I hoped to. I just found it stashed away in my folders, and, lacking in ideas at the moments, decided to go ahead and post it._

 _[This is set before they are officially a couple, yet kind of, sort of know they have feelings for eachother…]_

"You look fine." I said, rolling my eyes at John, who was more like a woman when it came to getting ready for a date. He was messing with his sandy blond hair, fluffing it up, then smoothing it back down indecisively. He turned to face me.

"Sure?" He asked. I nodded.

"Yeah, you look great." I said, as Sherlock emerged from the kitchen. "Doesn't he?" I asked Sherlock, hitting John's legs with my feet so he would turn around.

"Meh." Sherlock shrugged a shoulder. I sighed.

"You do, and if you worry about it anymore, you're going to be late." I said.

"Alright." He sighed, going towards the door.

He left quickly, almost forgetting his coat, and I rose up, going to be bedroom, picking out a dress from the closet, and a pair of shoes to match.

I dressed quickly, and only put on a small amount of makeup, before going back downstairs.

"Okay, what about me. How to _I_ look, and don't say 'meh'." I said, gesturing down to the blue dress that had been in my closet for ages,

"You look….great. Where are you going?" He asked quickly.

"I have a date."

"Really?"

"Mmhmm." I hummed, nodding, and fixing my hair in the mirror, just as John was.

"With who?"

"His name's Patrick. John works with him, says he's really nice."

"A blind date, then?"

"No, not really. We've met before."

"And you like him?"

"Why are you asking so many questions?" I wondered, turning around to look at him. He shrugged.

"Just curious, is all."

"Yes, I like him, but I don't know if I like him _in that way_. We'll see how tonight goes." I said, Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door, Patrick trailing behind, dressed in a nice suit, a large grin on his face.

"Elizabeth. This gentleman is here for you." She said, with a suggestive wink. I only laughed.

"Thank you."

She went back downstairs, and Patrick stepped forward a little, but never came in, as I grabbed my coat and purse.

"Oh, Patrick, this is my flatmate Sherlock." I introduced them, thinking it might be polite. Sherlock rose to shake his hand, seeming entirely unhappy about the whole ordeal, while Patrick only smiled.

"Oh, yes, I've heard of you. The great Sherlock Holmes. I read John's blog all the time. Great stuff." he complimented.

"Alright. Ready to go?" I asked him. He nodded, holding out an arm, and I put mine through his.

* * *

I rested my chin on my hand as Patrick told the eighth story about work of the evening….and we haven't even ordered yet.

I tuned him out, deciding this was a really bad idea, and I wanted to go home, but I wasn't going to be rude.

I tuned back in just in time for him to finish his story.

"Fascinating."

"It really was." He beamed.

I was glad that he took pride in his work, but come on...on a date?

I pray somewhere out there wishing the man she was with would share medical stories.

Or a man...I'm not judging.

Hopefully Patrick found them, and they lived a happy life together. That woman is just not me.

But that wasn't the worst part of our night, oh no.

We had nothing in common... _nothing._ Which meant we argued over our opinions. Not only that, but I've seen him phone two or three times now, in the last five minutes, he apparently really likes the waitress, I mean _really_ likes the waitress...or at least her chest, and had ordered, already, three or four drinks.

"So." He said.

"So." I repeated with a smile.

"What about you. Tell me about yourself."

"Well What would you like to know?" I said, suddenly not knowing anything about myself.

"Why did you move to London?" He asked, after taking a sip of his wine.

"Well, a relationship ended badly, I quit my job, and had nowhere else to go." I explained. "John offered to let me stay as long as I wanted. I'm trying to get back on my feet again, finish college, find a flat of my own somewhere, but…" I trailed off. He seemed uninterested, fiddling with the edge of his napkin, as his phone lit up on the table ( _on. the. table!)_ , and he checked it.

"Do you like it here?" he wondered, typing.

"Yeah, I do. It's...different."

He remained silent, going back to playing with the napkin corner. "And living with your brother?"

"Well, I'm never bored." I said, laughing nervously.

"You know, that Sherlock fellow…" He began, finally looking up. "Like I said, I read John's blog. He's incredibly intelligent, but, between you and me, he seems a bit of an ass. Honestly, I don't know how you stand living with him." he laughed, as if it were a joke, and I guess he was trying to be funny, but it wasn't. He barely even knew him. Only met him for a couple of seconds, and only ever read about him before hand! I guessed it might have been the drinks beginning to take effect.

Still I smiled a little, not wanting to be rude.

After his laughter had died down a bit, I excused myself from the table, going to the restroom, yanking my phone from it's pocket, and dialing.

"Come and get me."

The other end was silent. "Why?" Sherlock asked, slowly.

"Because I don't have money for a cab, and Patrick is…..awful! He's horrible! Please." I begged.

Silence again. "Where are you?"

I told him the address of the restaurant, and he suggested I stayed in the restroom until he got there, which wouldn't be but five minutes.

I sat on the sink and waited, scrolling through emails, and texts, when another girl walked in, smiling, her brown curly hair pulled up in a simple ponytail, swinging behind her.

"Leaving him?" She asked. I recognised her. She had been sitting a few tables away, occasionally glancing to our table, a scowl on her face. I smiled and nodded. "Good! He seems like a...well." She trailed off, and I nodded again.

"Yeah, he really is."

"Do you have a ride home?" She asked.

"Yeah, I have a friend coming to get me."

"Good. Joanna." She introduced herself, holding out a perfectly manicured hand.

"Elizabeth."

"Lovely to meet you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Sorry if I seem kind of...stalker-ish, I just couldn't help but notice."

I shook my head. "No, no, it's fine. Thank you." I said, my phone dinging. Sherlock, no doubt, telling me he was waiting outside.

"Do you need some help sneaking out?" she asked.

"Would you mind? I don't want to take you away from your date." She chuckled.

"Mine's going almost like yours. I wasn't interested the first date, or the second. Thought third time was going to be the charm, but…"

"Need a ride?" I asked. She grinned.

"If you don't mind."

We walked out of the bathroom, her arm going around mine, as if we had been best friends for years.

"When we walk back, pretend to be laughing, keep your head down." She suggested, and we did, giggling like school girls, covering our mouths, making sure neither of them saw us.

Success!

We really were laughing by the time we got outside, and I spotted Sherlock immediately, pulling Joanna along with me.

"We're dropping her off. She's a victim as well." I said. "Joanna this is my flatmate, Sherlock, Sherlock, Joanna." I said, and she told him her address.

"That's not very far from where we live at all." I said, she smiled.

"Good. I didn't want to go out of your way."

"Not at all." I said, climbing into the cab, Joanna and Sherlock climbing in behind me.

We exchanged numbers in the cab before she got out, promising to go out to lunch sometime. When she got out, and was inside, Sherlock climbed out of the cab as well.

"Fancy going on a walk?" He asked.

"It's snowing." I said.

"All the more reason to go on a walk."  
I agreed, getting out as Sherlock paid the fair, and joined me again on the sidewalk.

We walked side by side in silence, watching the snow fall down, twirling in the wind. I giggled as one landed on my nose, melting slowly, making my nose cold.

"So what made Patrick so awful?" Sherlock asked. I shrugged.

"He was rude, and flirted with the waitress, and just talked about work, which would be fine, except I couldn't get a word in, and it was boring. If it was something like what you do, I wouldn't mind, but it was just prescribing medicine, and telling people they have incurable diseases that will kill them in a certain amount of time, which is horrible, and not a story for a first date!"

"And murder scenes _are_ first date worthy?" He asked.

"Well...no, but I'm just saying ,it's interesting, whereas his job, to me, isn't."  
He only hummed in response.

We walked in silence again, and I shoved my hands into my coat pockets, trying to warm them up. Snow was already accumulating on the sidewalk, getting into my shoes and melting, making my feet cold, but the snow was gorgeous, and I didn't regret walking.

"Cold?" Sherlock asked. I shook my head.

"I'm fine." I said as something heavy was placed on my shoulders. I looked at Sherlock, who was, now, without a coat, walking in the snow, like it was nothing.

"You're going to freeze."

"Nope."

"You're going to catch a cold."

He glanced at me. "I don't get sick, Elizabeth."

"You will."

"No."

I sighed, wrapping the coat around me, not bothering to put my arms through the sleeves. "Thank you." I said. He didn't respond, just kept walking.

I practically ran inside when we reached the flat, thanking God that the heat was on, and took off my soaked shoes, my toes red and damp. I wiggled them around a little, but didn't feel a thing.  
Great.

I hung mine and Sherlock's coats on the coat rack, and went up to my room, still upset about the date.

I thought I was finally getting everything together, or starting to. I was looking at jobs, going for an interview next week, a straight A college student, getting ready to graduate, Mrs. Hudson had offered to let me live in 221C, which I was kind of excited about, because I would be on my own, but not too far from John, so I would have someone I knew. I was dating again. Three areas I had, that I was getting back, and I blew it.

Not only was the date awful, but I stood him up, and I felt bad...really, really bad.

I changed into pajamas, and crawled into bed, when I heard a knock on my bedroom door.

I inwardly groaned, and went to open it, finding Sherlock on the other side, two mugs in his hands.

"I thought you might be cold, and a bit...upset, and Mrs. Hudson had some hot cocoa made…" He held a mug out towards me, and I smiled, taking it.

"Thank you." I said.

"John rented some movies, as well, if you wanted to watch something." He suggested. Looking around the room.

"Yeah, I'll be down in just a second." I said, and Sherlock left me to grab a blanket and pillow.

I went downstairs, carefully, trying not to spill the steaming mug of hot cocoa, while also trying not to trip over my incredibly long pajamas (which I got a size larger for comfort.).

Sherlock had already put a movie in, and pushed the couch up like John and I did when we had movie nights (made it easier to see), and some popcorn already made.

I sat down, cocooning myself in my blanket, picking up my bowl of popcorn and mug of cocoa, and making myself comfortable.

"You can sit down, you know." I said to Sherlock, who was still standing beside the couch. He sat down beside me, and I scooted a little closer, somehow without him noticing, my feet still cold, wondering if there was some way I could worm them underneath his legs for warmth.

The previews were still going, Sherlock skipping through them, when my phone dinged. I was suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling of dread before I took a slightly shaky hand out of the blanket to grab it, knowing it was going to be Patrick, and knowing it was going to be an awful text, about how I was an awful person, and he didn't want to see me ever again, and that it was okay, I wasn't worth his time anyway.

I had just grabbed it, and was about to turn it over, when Sherlock reached over me, and took it from my hand, putting it on the other arm of the couch.

"Hey!" I exclaimed, reached for it, but he stuck out an arm, stopping me.

"You're not talking to him." he said.

"Why can't I?"

"Because the text, more than likely, is only going to upset you, you're already shaking." he held up one of my hands. "Just forget about it, and enjoy the movie."

I nodded. Easier said than done.

But I did it. The move John had rented was a comedy, which wasn't my favorite genre, but I did laugh, and tried to get Sherlock to do the same.

When the movie was over, it was still early in the evening.

"Can I see my phone now, please."

"Nope. Go get dressed." He ordered.

"Why?"

"We're going somewhere." He stood up, and went to his bedroom, typing away on his phone. Mine was still on the arm, and I took it, quickly, unlocking it, and reading the text.

I was right. Sherlock was right. I felt awful. I was a horrible person (that's what the text said), and he hated me, and was going to be sure to tell John what I had done (which was kind of a childish move, but it did scare me a little) unless I gave him another chance.

"Really?" Sherlock said, coming back into the room. I locked my phone, putting it back on the arm, wanting to make a joke, but I couldn't think of anything to say.

"I was just….worried." I shrugged a shoulder, standing up. "It won't take me long to get dressed." I told him, trudging up the stairs to my room, really not wanting to go anywhere, but Sherlock was being nice, I guess, trying to get my mind off of it, which, for him, was odd. I thought he would agree with him, but I appreciated what he was doing.

I didn't put the dress back on like I wanted to, instead choosing a more casual dress, not bothering to redo my hair or makeup.

Sherlock was already waiting for my downstairs, my coat and bag in hand.

"Where are we going?" I said, slipping my arms into the sleeves. He didn't answer, only opened the door for me, a cab already waiting outside. "What are you doing?" I wondered. Still no reply. Only a smile.

The cab ride was silent, and I stayed anxious, wringing my hands, fiddling with the hem of my dress, shaking my leg. Sherlock only sent sideways glances in my direction.

"Calm down." he said, but I didn't. I was nervous, and had no idea where we were going.

The cab stopped in front of a restaurant, much nicer than the one Patrick took me to.

"Thought you might like a proper Valentine's Day dinner." He grinned.

"Thank you."

"Even though it might not necessarily be with someone you like in _that way_."

He couldn't have been more wrong.

"This is fine. Thank you." I said, as we walked inside.

We were seated by a window, away from the other patrons, which I appreciated, but I could barely pronounce anything on the menu.

"What's that?" I asked, pointing at something on the menu, and turning it so Sherlock could see. He pronounced it with ease, and though I heard him the first time, I pretended that I didn't, so I could hear him say it again.

"Is it any good?" I wondered. He shrugged a shoulder.

"It's not my favorite."

I nodded, keeping my finger on it to bookmark it, but looked around at the other choices too, trying to find something that might be a little better.

"What about…" I tried to pronounce it, getting nowhere. "...this thing." I turned the menu again so he could see. He nodded, pronouncing it easily, which made me feel a little stupid, but I knew he wasn't trying to make me feel that way. He wasn't doing it on purpose this time, and, in fact, I don't think there was ever a time he did so deliberately.

"Is it good?"  
Sherlock nodded. "Very."

"I'll get that, then. What about you?" I wondered. He furrowed his brows, and turned a page of the decorated menu.

"Not sure." He said, and admitted to being stuck between two dishes that had complex names (no surprise there), but finally decided as the waiter came to our table.

The waiter looked at me, pen already on the paper, waiting for me to tell him what I wanted, but I looked to Sherlock for help. He took a breath, and ordered for both of us.

"Thanks." I said, taking a sip of water. He only grinned, placing his hands on the table. I kept mine in my lap, wringing them nervously as we waited for out food.

"Happy Valentine's Day." He said, startling me. I smiled.

"Happy Valentine's Day." I repeated, and he grinned back at me.

Two days later, When I went down for breakfast, Sherlock looked awful. His nose was red, probably raw, and running, and he had a cough. I only chuckled, remembering that I warned him about a cold, and now he's on the couch sick as a dog, and arguing with John about working.

John left, exasperated, and I smiled.

"'I don't get sick Elizabeth'." I said in a low voice, mocking him.

"Shut up, Elizabeth." Came his reply, and I laughed as he sniffled.

 _So, this was supposed to be out on Valentine's Day, obviously, but that didn't happen, again, obviously._

 _So it's February in August!_

 _Happy super late Valentine's Day!_

 _~Eruaphadriel Xx_


	6. Victorian Oneshot

_This oneshot is dedicated to the wonderful Aubrey Cortez, who commented about how she wondered how Elizabeth and Sherlock would have ended up together in TAB reality. This is a really long oneshot, but I hope you enjoy._

 _I also did a lot of research for this oneshot, but if something is not historically accurate, please tell me._

Elizabeth lied in bed, her mother stroking her blond waves back against the pillow. She had cried most of the night, and Mrs. Watson expected to find her crying when she woke, but instead, Elizabeth was staring out of the window, silently, emotionless.

"Elizabeth, you need to get up. Your piano instructor will be here in less than an hour."

"Send him a telegram, tell him to not mind today. I'm afraid I will not be up for anything this morning."

Mrs. Watson sighed. She was almost as heart broken as her daughter, but for a different reason. Of course she knew Elizabeth was happy. She had met Jem her first Season, at a small party the neighbors held every year. They danced most of the evening, and the next morning, he had called on her, along with a chaperon, as they had made plans to go to the park and feed the ducks a few stale pieces of bread the kitchens were throwing out.

They were engaged soon after, and Mrs. Watson asked anyone she could about Jem; anyone she thought might know him. Of course, there was no way she could change her daughters ming about the man if she ever uncovered something about her soon to be son-in-law that was darker than she would have liked, but she could warn her at least.

Yet, every one she spoke to had a good report, and seemed to be a bit jealous that Mrs. Watson's daughter had stolen the wealthy boys heart, and not one of their own.

They had made wedding plans the past year or two, but every time they set a date, something postponed it, usually on Jem's side of the family. A death, or an emergency had occurred, and he needed to be gone that week. It made Mrs. Watson curious, and a little angry, but not Elizabeth. She always forgave him, and let him back into her arms after a day, or even an hour or two, of quarreling with eachother. This last time, though, was Elizabeth's fault, as John was back from the army, wounded, and she felt she needed to visit him his first few days back. She came home to give her mother an account of her visit, saying John was seeing a doctor, and that he was staying at an inn until he can find work and a place to lodge. But, all in all, he was fine.

Mrs. Watson, though he made her happy, did see the happy union as more of a career move, and in a way, she thought he did too. But, sadly in the end, Elizabeth was only a bit of fun, and, when Mrs. Watson questioned the family, there were never any deaths or family emergencies in the family the past two years. Only another woman in York who was, according to Jem, 'infinitely better' than Elizabeth. That night, Elizabeth had confided in her mother that her and Jem fought much more than she thought they did, about Elizabeth wanted to read and write, and wanting to be educated; go to school and travel, instead of staying home tending to her husband and children. He mocked her for it constantly.

"Maybe…" Mrs. Watson thought aloud, but didn't go on. It might not be such a good idea. Maybe she needed to stay so Mrs. Watson could keep an eye on her.

"'Maybe' what?" Elizabeth asked, rolling over before sitting up in bed.

"Maybe a change of scenery will do you some good. We have an Aunt in London. She has 5 children, and has written to me about you several times, wondering if you might help in some way."

"What about John? He's staying in London now, and could possibly find some kind of accommodation for me."  
"But your Aunt…"  
"Aunt Alice and I have never gotten along, you know that."

Mrs. Watson sighed, knowing Elizabeth wouldn't stay with Alice. "Harriet, then. Stay with her."

Elizabeth shook her head again. "Elizabeth, why are you being so difficult."

"That's not what I want."

"John has another gentleman living with him, doesn't he? Wouldn't that seem a little risque?"

Elizabeth only shrugged. "Stop shrugging." Her mother ordered. Elizabeth looked down towards her feet. "You can write to him, and see what he says." Mrs. Watson took some parchment to Elizabeth, and left to send the telegram to her piano instructor to cancel her services.

* * *

Elizabeth let her skirts fall, as she knocked on the door of 221 B.

An older woman answered, grinning.

"Hello. My name is Elizabeth Watson, I'm looking for John Watson, my brother. Is he here?"  
The older woman gasped when she introduced herself, and grabbed her arm, leading her inside.

"Mrs. Hudson." The woman introduced herself as Elizabeth removed her coat and hat.

"Oh, yes, John wrote about you."

"They should be home. I'll lead you upstairs."

Elizabeth went to carry her luggage, but a tiny hand stopped her.

"Oh, hello." She smiled at the young boy who reached for her luggage. He was young, and tiny, and smiling up at her, curls falling in front of his eyes.

"Hello, miss."

"What's your name." She bent down to his level.

"Billy, miss."

"Elizabeth Watson. I am very pleased to meet you, Billy." She stuck out a hand, and he shook it. It was a bit improper, but she never minded being proper in the first place, and a young child of Billy's age wouldn't mind.

"Allow me to carry it." She said, afraid the case would be too heavy for him.

"No, miss, I can carry it. I'm strong enough, I promise." He gripped it in both hands, and heaved it up, but plopped it down on each stair as he walked up, the case proving to be a little too heavy. But Elizabeth wasn't about to challenge his 'manliness', and allowed him to continue.

She was grabbed as soon as she reached to door by her brother.

"John." She laughed, hugging him back.

He pulled her inside,

"Elizabeth Watson, this is Mr. Sherlock Holmes." He introduced his sister to his roommate, who was lying on the couch.

"I'll go and make sure your room is tidy, then." He said, and walked upstairs. Elizabeth stepped into the room, looking at the interesting knick-knacks around the room.

"Is this real?" Elizabeth wondered, pointing to a skull on the mantle.

"Yes. Please do not touch it." Sherlock Holmes mumbled.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

Mrs. Hudson had allowed Elizabeth to stay in a spare room in her flat to avoid ay gossip. Elizabeth tried to assure all of them that she didn't care about that, but they felt better if she stayed with the landlady, so she moved her things down there, and would go upstairs to visit John once a day.

She loved London, and silently thanked her mother for suggesting her moving out here. The weather was nice, not too hot, but not too cool either, and there was always something to do while staying with Mrs. Hudson. She had a wonderful collection of books and artwork that Elizabeth admired, and she owned a little shop next door, so she would teach Elizabeth how to make sweets that she sold, and the two women would spend most of their afternoon in the kitchen, Mrs. Hudson making her sweets while Elizabeth tried to learn, but cooking was never her strength, and despite constantly encouraging her, she never got better.

After John got home from the surgery, Elizabeth would make her way upstairs, and she would eat dinner with John and Mr. Holmes. John rambled on about his day most of the time, taking up almost all of dinner, but Elizabeth would get a word in every so often. She would sometimes ask about Mr. Holmes, who would sit at the table without a word. Every night was a different answer, though. Some days he gave a short account of his day, while other times he only hummed, or muttered that his day had been just alright.

He never talked much, and always seemed to be thinking. Even at church on Sunday mornings he would sometimes go with them, yet he never seemed to be focused on the preacher.

Elizabeth had woken up early and dressed. She went to the kitchen first, finding Mrs. Hudson humming and putting tea cups and a bowl of sugar on a tray.

"Who is that for?" She wondered.

"Oh, I always bring tea to Mr. Holmes in the morning."

"That's very kind of you." Elizabeth sat in a dinning chair as Mrs. Hudson finished with the tray.

"Would you mind taking it to him this morning?" She asked, moving to the oven and pulling out a pan of bread.

"Not at all."

She picked up the tray, careful not to spill anything, and took it upstairs slowly.

She didn't expect Mr. Holmes to be awake, so she didn't bother knocking before she entered the flat. Carefully, she took the tray to the table, ready to set it down.

"I believe it is polite to knock first before entering." A voice said behind her, and she gasped in surprise, losing her grip on the tray, and it clattered to the floor, spilling the tea that was already in the tea cup.

Horrified at what she had done, Elizabeth quickly grabbed her handkerchief and bent to mop up her mess.

"Oh, I am so very sorry." She apologized, doing her best to clean the puddle up, but her handkerchief wasn't working.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed her wrist, pulling it away, and a rag took place of her handkerchief, a larger hand wiping the tea from the floor.

"Don't fret. I startled you." Mr. Holmes said, wiping the last of the tea away, and rising to his full height. He towered over Elizabeth, which intimidated her in the beginning. Sherlock Holmes, while he looked very intimidating, and sometimes sounded intimidating, to certain people, he was actually a little kind.

"Thank you." Elizabeth said, rising to her full height, and Mr. Holmes did the same, putting the rag on the table, not bothering to put it away. "Mrs. Hudson asked me to bring up your tea, I'm sorry." She apologized again.

"Quite alright." He sighed. "I have some tea here. Of course, you are more than welcome to join me for tea if you would like." He offered.  
Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, please. Thank you."

He disappeared from the living room, going into a side room. Elizabeth heard a kettle clanging in the other room.

His head came from around the corner. "Please have a seat." he said, nodding to an armchair. She did as he suggested, and he brought two tea cups out on a tray, creamer and sugar beside it, as well as a tea kettle.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes." She said as he put the tray on a table nearby, pouring tea into the cups, allowing her to put as much creamer and sugar in hers as she desired.

The drank it silently, both enjoying the taste. Elizabeth kicked her foot awkwardly at first, but leaned back and made herself comfortable after a minute.

"Have you enjoyed yourself in London?" He wondered.

"I have." Elizabeth answered, swallowing a sip of tea.

"Have you been out? Seeing the sights."  
"Not yet. Mostly I've been in Speedwell's and Mrs. Hudson's kitchen."

Sherlock smiled. "That's almost all Mrs. H does through the day. Has she gotten on your nerves yet."

She didn't want to answer honestly. That was a bit harsh. "She is very talkative." She settled. "Living with her full time is a bit much."

They talked until John came home that evening, and he joined the conversation.

 _So, this was suggested a long time ago, but I wanted to try to write it a little bit of it. I might carry on if a lot of you like it and want me to make a part 2. I just didn't know where to go after this little exchange. If you want a second part I will be happy to oblige :)_

 _Eruaphadriel Xx_


	7. April Fools

_Found this old gem a couple of minutes ago, hidden under my bed with old school notes._

 _I wrote it last year, I think, for April Fools Day, but I thought I would go ahead and post it now._

Elizabeth's POV, before they're married, while they're engaged.

I woke up with one of the biggest smiles on my face. This year is going to be the year. I opted out last time-not again.

My grin was still on my face by the time I got out of the shower and got dressed, ready for the big day ahead.

I decided that before my day of fun began, I would eat something so I grabbed a bowl and my box of cereal from the cabinet. I poured the flakes in and then poured some milk, not paying attention to the bowl until I dipped my spoon into it. Instead of the usual sugary flakes I saw colorful zeros floating in the milk, already getting soggy.

Confused, I checked the box. It was the cereal that I buy every time. Someone had changed the inside.

And I knew exactly who it was.

I was plotting revenge as footsteps approached the kitchen door and Mrs. Hudson, with bags on her arms, came into view.

"Good morning. You're up early." She grinned and put the bags on the kitchen table, pulling out breakfast items.

"I thought you were coming to make breakfast tomorrow?" I asked. She said she couldn't make breakfast the first of this month because of a doctor's appointment.

"Oh, no, no, change of plans, I'm afraid." She said, going about her business. "You don't mind, do you?"

"No, no, not at all, I enjoy it." I assured her, leaning on the counter, still planning my revenge.

An idea struck and I acted immediately, grabbing some clear sandwich wrap and making my way to the bathroom.

After I was finished, John came down, making his way to the bathroom. I grabbed his arm.

"No, stop, don't use the bathroom." I said.

"Why not? What's wrong with it?" He wondered, and I explained to him what Sherlock had done.

"You're both children, but he deserves it, starting a prank war, and touching our favorite cereal. Justice must be served." He nodded. I chuckled and he looked to Mrs. Hudson.

"Is it alright if I go down and use your restroom?" He wondered.

"Just clean up any mess you make."

"Yes, mother." John whispered.

"Pardon?" Mrs. Hudson asked, unable to hear what he said.

"I said I would."

"Thank you." She turned back to her eggs. John gathered some things he needed from our bathroom and headed downstairs.

"I didn't expect him to do anything today, really." I admitted to Mrs. Hudson.

"What do you mean?"

"It's April Fools Day."

She gasped. "Oh, that's today?" I nodded and she grinned and told me of the silly pranks her and her friends pulled off in school.

In the middle of her third story I heard a yelp from the bathroom and something hit the wall.

"Who did this?" I heard Sherlock yell. Mrs. Hudson and I were both trying not to laugh. Sherlock didn't help by walking through the hallway, the front of his shirt wet.

"Oh, dear, you've got water on your shirt."

He sighed. "If only." He glared at me.

"Don't switch out my cereal." I warned as he walked back down the hallway in defeat.

"Oh, what will he do next?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"No idea, but I can't wait."

XXXXX

Breakfast was silent. Sherlock had showered, his hair still wet, and I reached a hand over, smoothing it back like I always did.

"It won't dry properly." He reminded, taking a bite of eggs.

"Okay." I said, taking my hands away, proud of my work. A curl escaped, resting on his forehead, and I slicked it back with the rest.

"If it was your hair you wouldn't be saying that."

"No, but you would." John said, watching us both awkwardly, waiting for our next move.

When breakfast was over and cleaned, Sherlock went to the other table with all of his chemistry equipment while I read in his chair.

I heard beakers and test tubes rattle, and Sherlock was looking for something, no doubt the slide I had in my book, sticking out of the pages in plain sight.

"Where is it?" I heard him mutter to himself.

"Where is what?" I asked.

"The slide." He answered. "Did you see it?"

I shook my head. "No idea."

He looked at me, seeing the slide poking from the book and rushed over to grab it.

"April Fools Day, huh?" He wondered. I laughed and nodded.

"Just so you know," He said, walking back to the table, "that was your worst today."

XXX

Sherlock hadn't retaliated by the end of the day, and the longer he took the more nervous I became.

We went to bed shortly after dinner, my head resting on Sherlock's shoulder and I felt his shoulder begin to shake as I asked him why he didn't get me back.

"What?" I asked, propping myself up on my elbow to see him. He was laughing silently, shaking his head.

"Eliza-Elizabeth, it's not April Fools Day."He laughed more.

I stayed silent, trying to process what he had said. "What?"

"Today is not April Fools Day."

I rolled over quickly, grabbing my phone from the nightstand and looking at the date.

"It says April first right there." I handed my phone to Sherlock who held it in one hand and got his in the other.

He showed me the lock screen.

March thirty-first.

"John!" I screamed and I heard footsteps running from upstairs, then through the kitchen, hallway, and finally to our bedroom door, frantic. John was panting as he opened the door.

"What is it, what's wrong? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, what is today?" I asked.

John just stood there. He said nothing. "What?"

"What is today?" I asked again.

"It's March thirty-first." He answered.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure." He said, pulling his phone from his robe pocket and checking the date for himself. "Yeah, it's still March."

Sherlock, who was still chuckling quietly to himself, handed my phone back to me.

John, his business being done, left, shutting the door behind him and I head his feet shuffling back up to his room.

I laid back down.

"Why do that?" I asked.

"Do what?"

"Make me think it was April Fools Day? Go and change the date in my phone?"

"For an April Fools Day prank, of course."

I leaned up on my elbow so I could see his face.

"But today isn't April Fools Day."

Sherlock looked at his phone, which was still in his hand and we watching as the time changed from 11:59 on March thirty-first to midnight, April first.

"April Fools." He responded with a smile. I rolled over on my side of the bed.

"Shut up."

 _Not the best, but…_

 _Sorry I haven't been writing for a while, but I've had a lot going on. We didn't have WIFI for a while, then I went on my first date (yay!) and just friends being annoying, I haven't been sleeping well….yeah, these past few weeks have been a time._

 _Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, sorry it's so short and not the best, but I promise a new chapter of Another Watson is coming soon (it's a little hard to write but I trucking through!)_

 _Eruaphadriel Xx_


	8. Victoria Watson

The flat was silent, except for the occasional tapping from Sherlock's phone as I walked into the living room, dressed and ready to go. Meanwhile, Sherlock was still in his pajamas and dressing gown, slumped in his chair, and curls going every direction. I sighed. We needed to leave.

"Sherlock, why aren't you ready?" I wondered.

He glanced at me, eyebrows raised.

"What for?" he asked, and started typing again.

"Lunch."

That seemed to jog his memory, and he nodded slowly, putting the phone in his dressing gown pocket, and standing up.

"When do we need to leave?"  
"You have five minutes." I told him. He grinned and walked towards the bedroom.

"I'll only need three." He promised, but that was a lie. He could be almost as bad as a woman when it came to getting ready.

XXXXXXXXXX

John got there before we did, going straight from work to the restaurant. He was waiting outside when we pulled up, watching the street.

"Where is she?" I asked him as I got out of the cab.

"She should be here any minute now. She just left the hotel."

I sighed, knowing that 'just left the hotel' was Victoria for 'I'll be leaving the hotel within an hour, but it'll seem like forever'.

We went in, and we were seated. John's phone and mine both emitted a 'ping', and we heard the door open. We didn't need to look at the texts to know who it was from, and we meet each other's eyes, taking a deep breath.

The waiter came to our table, and our mother wasn't far behind him, grinning from ear to ear, and her arms outstretched.

I was the first to stand up, and return the bear hug, while John 'struggled' to get out of the booth, pretending to fall several times before getting up.

"Sorry, mum, the booth is a bit difficult to get out of." He apologized, and she believed him.

"Of course, of course." She sat down, and wrapped a tiny arm around his shoulders, pulling him to her side. He smiled, awkwardly, and I heard his silent prayer.

"Uh, this is Sherlock Holmes, my fiancé." I said, the last bit quieter than the first, not knowing what her reaction would be. She knew we were engaged, but she hadn't met him.

The grin on her face only grew as she reached a hand over the table.

"Oh, Sherlock, so lovely to finally meet you!"

Sherlock reached across and shook her hand. I don't know how I expected Sherlock to act, but Sherlock seemed completely at ease through the lunch, not saying much, but enough to make my mother happy.

"So, Sherlock, what do you do?" She wondered, and John and I looked at each other, confused. She knew what he did, I thought, she did occasionally read John's blog.

Sherlock took a deep breath, and I knew there were several answers to this questions; consulting detective, private detective, homicide detective, each answer eliciting their own questions and responses, good and bad.

"I am a detective." he answered simply.

"That must be…" She swirled her fork over her plate, searching for the word, and I held my breath. "..interesting." She nodded. I let my breath out.

"Yes it can be." Sherlock answered, putting down his fork, finished with his meal. I reached over and grabbed an olive that he left, without him noticing.

"So you work with Scotland Yard, then?" She asked, taking another bite of salad.

"Occasionally. I've worked with them on a case or two."  
"So you're more of a private detective?"

"Yes, I suppose."

My eyes met John's again, and we were both still confused.

"Mom, I thought you read the blog?" John asked.

She shook her head. "Oh, no I've never read it, but Harry has. I wasn't sure if that's what you did for a living or not." She shrugged. "That's all."

"Oh, well…" John cleared his throat. "I can send you a link, if you would like to read it sometime." He offered.

"I might like to, but I think I would just rather hear it from one of you three."

"Might be easier to read it." John suggested. She scrunched her nose, and shook her head.

"No, I don't think so."

I hid my face behind my hand, and laughed, glancing at Sherlock, who was trying to hold back a smile.

"Well, then, if you want to hear about cases, he's the one you need to call." John pointed his fork at Sherlock.

"No, really…" Sherlock tried to speak, but John interrupted him.

"If you can keep up with him, of course. He talks faster than a computer. You can keep up with a website, you know, like a blog." He muttered into his drink, Mum, though, didn't catch it.

"I have seen you on the new, a time or two, though." She went on, talking to Sherlock.

"Have you?" He asked, being polite, but I could tell he really wasn't interested.

"And in the papers. You're a bit popular at work. One of my coworkers is a big fan of yours." She turned to John. "He reads your blog." She nodded.

"He's a smart fellow." John complemented. Mum still wasn't catching on.

"He goes on and on about the time he met you. Said you knew almost everything about him a few seconds after meeting him. Can you really do that?" She wondered.

"Yes." Sherlock answered.

"He said it was incredible."

"Of course. I agree with John, a smart fellow"

My phone pinged, and I checked it, seeing it was from John.

 **From: Johnny**

 **Sherlock's getting cocky, and she's getting curious...should we bail? Erect a ring, maybe, and they can fight it out if it comes to it?**

I held back a laugh, and typed back.

 **To: Johnny**

 **I'm kind of interested to see how this plays out…never liked Greek drama...when everything happens off stage.**

I saw him shrug, and mouth 'your fiancé' before turning back to his ravioli.

Mum waved a hand.

"Show me." She said.

"Now?" Sherlock wondered. She nodded.

"Yes, we're surrounded by people." She nodded at the tables around us.

I wondered if Sherlock would actually do it, but then he took a deep breath, and I got my answer.

XXXXXXXXXX

The cab ride back home was silent, and I stared out of the window, trying not to grin.

"You didn't have to deduce her, you know." I said, turning to look at Sherlock, who was staring straight ahead. He shrugged.

"It was easier than deducing a complete stranger."

I chuckled. "Since when did you care about easy?"

He didn't answer. "Well, you're very lucky she has a sense of humor." I added after a while.

"I wasn't joking."  
"No, but she thought you were." I clarified. My phone chimed, and I took it out, the screen showing a text from Mum, thanking us for lunch, that it was nice to meet Sherlock (finally), and asking if we could do it again sometime. I told her we could, but I secretly doubted it.

"I don't think John will stay mad at you for very long, though." I told him. While I thought it was kind of funny that he chose our mother to deduce and examine, pointing out a few of her most prominent flaws, John did not find any humor in it, and insisted he get a separate cab than us to 'think'.

I saw the corner of Sherlock's mouth turn up in a smile, and he turned towards the window.

"It was kind of funny, though." I told him.

XXXXXXXXXX

John still wasn't happy when we got home, and that morning he was still a little sour.

"Oh, come on, John. She thought it was funny." I shrugged a shoulder. "If she isn't upset, why are you?"  
"Because that was very rude?" John said.

"It was rude, but she wasn't offended or upset, so everything is fine. Call her to make sure if you really want to."

"I think I will." John got out his phone, dialing her number.

"And put it on speaker." He did.

"Hello?"

"Hi, mum, it's John, I just wanted to apologize if Sherlock said anything last night that offended you at all. He's not exactly the King of Tact."

I heard her chuckle over the phone.

"John, I'm not angry about anything he said. I told him to."

I smiled at John triumphantly. He only rolled his eyes.

"Well, I know that some people are. We-" I lightly punched his arm. "I," he corrected. "Wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Of course I am." She answered. "I'm not as sensitive as you seem to think I am. I can take a joke."

John made no attempt to correct her, just said 'goodbye' as quickly as he could.

"Do we tell her later that he wasn't joking?" He wondered. I shook my head furiously.

"No, no, not at all. Not at all. Let her believe the lie."

John sighed, putting his phone back on the table. "I guess you were right."

"As always." I nodded, leaning back into the couch.

"He's rubbing off on you." John commented. I smiled.

"Is that a good or a bad thing?"

John closed his eyes, sighed. "No idea."

 **I've been finding all KINDS of oneshots in my Google Docs, you guys would not believe how many there are unfinished here.**

 **I knew I wrote this somewhere, I just couldn't remember where, and I'm glad I found it. I liked it.**

 **A few more coming your way tonight, I hope, so stay tuned.**

 **If you can think of something that you want to see, let me know! I would be happy to write it. It can take place anytime in the story and include all characters.**

 **A sad one is next, I teared up several times, so just be prepared. :)**


	9. After the Fall

_**Set after the Fall...**_

John watched as Elizabeth stared out of the window, waiting.

Mary was excited. She let Elizabeth borrow a nice, blue dress, and some black heels, which Elizabeth hated, yet she wore them anyway.

' _The old Elizabeth_ ' he thought, staring at the shoes, ' _would have already thrown them off and asked for flats.'_ He remembered, and even told Mary about how she had walked down the aisle barefoot at her wedding because the shoes were too tall and uncomfortable.

Yet, she wasn't the same Elizabeth, anymore. She had changed drastically since…

She barely smiled, she had gotten thinner and paler….that's why John had begged Mary to let her stay, so John could look after her, make sure she was eating, get her some help that she desperately needed, no matter how much she protested. It hurt John to see her so broken, how it hurt her when someone even mentioned Sherlock, and how, when they talked about a therapist, she locked herself in the spare room, and cried, saying she didn't want help, not from a stranger.

That was the first, and only time Mary had seen him cry.

She wasn't doing well on her own, especially in 221B, barely eating or drinking. She had become dehydrated, and while she never slept, she stayed in bed. Mrs. Hudson had told John she brought breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but when she came up to get the tray she brought, barely anything was touched, if anything at all.

She wore darker clothes, matching the dark circles around her eyes, which had gone from sparkling, to dim.

She had spiraled into a depression, dug herself in a hole, and John didn't know if there was going to be any way to get her out of it.

It wasn't like that at first. It was a slow and gradual change. At first, she was upset, obviously, but she was eating, even laughing every once in a while shortly after he had died, seeming to recover along with everyone else. No, she wasn't Elizabeth, but she was getting there, getting better.

Mrs. Hudson was the first to notice the spiral, calling John, asking if he had talked to her. He told her he hadn't, that they had texted a few days ago, but nothing else. She explained that she didn't seem to be sleeping well.

"Maybe she's having bad nights, again." he explained. "She does that from time to time."

"I know, John," Mrs. Hudson said. "but this is different."

"She'll be fine, give her a few days." He then said his goodbyes, and hung up.

A few days later, she said it had gotten worse, and that's when he went over, and she had been dehydrated, looking awful. John stayed there for a while, helping her while she was sick, but she never got any better. She was hydrated, but she wasn't herself.

A few weeks later, when he went to visit again, and noticed her weight loss, he called Mary, and packed her things.

John _had_ been surprised, though, at how well Mary and Elizabeth got on. He often told Mary about how she was, and apologized, at which point Mary shook her head and laughed.

"She's your sister. She went through a rough patch, and you're worried. She's fine here." And Mary had proved to be a huge help. She made dinner every night for all three of them, forcing them to eat together at the table, and talk. She asked Elizabeth how her day had been, what books she had read, what shows she might have watched, if she had talked to anyone that day (which, until recently, was no one), if there was any movies she might want to go and see (Mary was _dying_ to take her out for dinner, a movie, and shopping), and at first, forced her to eat, but John saw her progress in the last year, and he hadn't been happier in two years.

She had started eating on her own a little, and talked to Lestrade, Sarah, and Molly again, and had even gone out with Molly while John and Mary were at work. At dinner that night, after she told them, John was so happy, he could barely remain seated, and couldn't sleep that night. Mary had only smiled, and kicked him under the table.

"Progress." she mouthed excitedly as Elizabeth went to pick up the spoon to get more pasta. John could've cried.

Now they had to work on smiling again. John couldn't even remember the last time he heard her laugh... _actually_ laugh. Not the fake chuckles she forces out at dinner.

But tonight, she was sitting by the window, dressed up, ready to go out.

Ready to finally move on after two years, going out with a man Mary had set her up with last week, saying she needed to at least _try_.

She finally gave in, and while John was happy she was trying, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that it was...wrong. This wasn't what was supposed to happen, as if she were cheating, as if she were still married.

Maybe it was because he hadn't quite gotten over the suicide of his brother-in-law, his best friend, his flat-mate, or maybe it was because she still wore her rings on her right ring finger; maybe not, but he wasn't comfortable.

John watched her like a hawk as Mary fussed around her, making sure she looked alright, and heard Elizabeth sigh, exhausted, when the doorbell rang. Mary rushed to answer.

"You alright?" John asked. She only nodded.

The man Mary brought up was well dressed, and tall, yet nothing like Sherlock. The man grinned widely when he saw Elizabeth, and Mary pushed him towards her. Elizabeth smiled, but it was a forced, fake smile, a polite gesture only. She didn't mean it, it wasn't genuine.

But, in her eyes, he didn't have to know that.

He shook John's hand, introducing himself as Arthur, before following Elizabeth out.

John rushed to the window and watched as Arthur opened the cab door for Elizabeth, letting her in before getting in himself, and driving off.

"She smiled." Mary said. John shook his head. "Well it was something." she argued.

"I know it's hard." Mary said later, coming up and resting a hand on his shoulder. He was still staring out of the window. "Watching her go out with someone else who isn't _him_ , but he could make her happy."  
"I know." He didn't.

"Do you?"

XXXXXXXXXX

"...so I walked farther down the hallway, and stopped, turning every which way…."

I blocked him out. Arthur was a nice guy, but was talkative, and laughed about everything...it was kind of annoying, really.

Yet, he had taken me to the same Japanese place Sherlock had years ago…

 _Stop. Focus on moving on...he's not going to be back….not anytime soon..._

"So did you ever find it?" I asked. "The hotel room?"  
"Yes, finally." He laughed. "After about 30 minutes."

I only nodded.

"Are you feeling alright?" He asked.

"Peachy." I answered, picking up the chopsticks, then looking for a waiter, calling one to our table.

"Could I get a fork?" I asked. He smiled and nodded.

"Do you not know how to use chopsticks?" Arthur asked. I shook my head.

"Here." he rose from his booth, going to move over to mine, but I put a hand up to stop him from sitting down.  
"No, no that's fine, I'm just….not comfortable using them is all."  
 _I'm just being silly and sentimental, and reminiscing on the time Sherlock did the exact same thing, even though there was almost absolutely no romantic intent at all...I'm being stupid._

"Alright." I sighed. "I can't tell you how excited I am to finally met you?"

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"I saw you on the news, in the papers. I followed all of the stories. Such a shame, what happened to him."  
I nodded. "Yeah, it is." I didn't want to talk about it. I really, really didn't want to talk about it. My chest began to tighten, making breathing more difficult.

"Then he came out to be a fraud. And here we were, thinking he was actually a hero."

I picked up my water, purposely spilling it on my dress, but made it look to be an accident. Arthur was up in a second, grabbing a napkin, and handing it to me, making sure I was alright.

"It was only water, Arthur." I said, leaning away from him, as he reached a hand to my shoulder. He retreated.

"Well, that must be uncomfortable." It was. I had poured a large amount on myself. "Let's get you home." he said, grabbing my coat, and putting it over my shoulders. He escorted me out, handing our money to the waiter.

The cab ride was silent, and when we pulled up to the flat, I let out a breath I never knew I was holding.

I got out, but then leaned down to look at Arthur.

"He wasn't a fraud." I told him. "He was a good man. A good, honest man. He would've never done anything like that."

"Are you sure?" He asked. I slammed the door.

"Everything go-Elizabeth, when happened?" Mary asked as I walked into the flat, the dress still soaked and I was shivering.

"I spilled water. Sorry."

Mary smiled. "It's just water. Nothing harmful." She took the coat from my shoulders, replacing it with a blanket. "There. It's warmer." She smiled. "How'd it go? Will there be a second?"  
"Absolutely not." I scoffed.

"Why? I thought he was sweet."

"He was." I admitted. "Yet, he…"

"He came up, didn't he?" John asked, coming from the kitchen. I nodded.

"He called him a fraud. He believed it."  
John sat down on the couch, patting the seat next to him, and I sat down as well. He slung an arm around my shoulders.

"I hate to break it to you, but there are a lot of people that do, Elizabeth. And it's hurtful, but,"

"But you would think he would have enough common sense to not bring it up, especially on a first date with the woman you knew was married to him."

"Oh, yeah, that was really stupid." Mary agreed.

"See, Mary thinks it's stupid. Mary's always right."

"Elizabeth you stay here as long as you like." Mary laughed.

They sat in silence, before I got up, and headed towards my room.  
"I'm going to bed." I announced.

"G'night." Mary called after me, neither of them asking me to stay up longer.

Once I got up to my room, I shed the dress. It had started to stick to my torso, making it difficult to get off, feeling almost like a second skin.

I hung it up, planning to wash it in the morning, changing into pyjamas and crawling into bed.

As soon as I got comfortable, I slid a hand underneath my pillow, reaching for the small handwritten note, wedding band wrapped around it. I never read it. It just laid there under my pillow as a painful reminder. It had been a few months since Mycroft had told me anything about where Sherlock was and I was getting more and more worried as the days went on.

I hated this. I hated this whole thing. I hated waiting ages to hear anything about it or from him, I hated that could hardly take care of myself anymore, I hated that John and Mary are being put in this position, having to take care of me as if I was a child again, I hated Arthur and what he had said.

I clutched the note in my hand, curled into a ball, and cried myself to sleep.

XXXXXXXXXX

John and Mary sat silently on the couch, neither of them knowing what to do or say.

Mary looked at John, reaching a hand over, placing it gently on his shoulder. Mary never knew Elizabeth before Sherlock's death, although she wished she had. She had no idea what she was like with Sherlock, John didn't like to talk about it, and she understood. But she wanted to know.

"Tell me about her." Mary said, squeezing his shoulder lightly. "What was she like? What were they like? Elizabeth and Sherlock."

It took John a long time to reply, he only stared at his feet, forearms resting on his legs, hands clasped in front of him as he thought.

"Happy." he said simply. "They were an odd couple, but they were happy, anyone could see that."

Mary didn't press him further, waiting for him to go on on his own.

"She was…" he shook his head with a smile. "She was always so...nice. She was kind to everyone, or she tried to be, anyway. Sometimes she would mutter things under her breath, or say something whenever they weren't listening." He couldn't remember clearly, but he thought he called that case The Blind Banker, when she made a joke about their client and, he thought she either called the DI 'Dumbsmock' or 'Dickmock'. Knowingly. Mary laughed when he told her.

"Did she really?" She almost didn't believe it. John nodded and Mary saw a solemn smile ghost his lips as he nodded.

"She did. I don't think she ever saw it, and I don't know if he ever would have admitted it, but Sherlock looked at her and almost laughed. He looked like he was proud of her." John nodded, remembering. "He looked like that a lot, and Elizabeth never caught him. But you could tell, he was proud, and, even though I never heard him say it myself, he really did love her. I know that. She loved him too."

Mary's hand moved from his shoulder to his back, rubbing small circles as John pressed his lips together.

Later that night, John went to bed, leaving Mary in the living room by herself, John's phone sitting on the table. Normally, she wouldn't have even thought about it, but she had to see. She was curious, and she could tell it upset John to talk about his sister before, what they called, 'the fall'. She wanted to know a little about who Elizabeth was. _Is,_ she reminded herself.

She reached for his phone, breezing my the passcode and went to his gallery, going to the very top.

She searched to photographs, videos, anything.

She found some photos of her and John, making silly faces. She smiled at the sight of both of them so happy.

Next were some more silly photos, Elizabeth again with who she assumed was Sherlock Holmes himself. Both of them making silly faces in the camera.

She looked farther down and found a few videos from Christmas, it looked like, decorations a mess on the floor. She pressed play.

The first thing she heard was a laugh and the camera spun around to face Elizabeth, holding lights up to the mantle, trying to get them to stay and giggling at her failure.

" _Please, come help"_ She begged someone off camera. She sounded different. Her voice higher, lighter than it was now. Mary checked the date. This was the Christmas before the fall.

" _I'm rather enjoying this."_ A deep voice answered her. Sherlock.

" _I know you hate Christmas,"_ Elizabeth was still struggling to keep the lights up on the whole mantle. " _But I really need your help."_

A loud sigh came from off camera and footsteps got louder until Mary was able to see Sherlock on the screen, taking one end of the lights and garland while Elizabeth took the other, securing it in place every few inches.

Mary watched them and she found the look John was talking about. As Elizabeth stepped away, admiring her handy work with a smile Mary didn't think was possible, Sherlock was looking at her with a smile that can only be reserved for someone special.

The video ended and Mary scrolled down more, finding another of Elizabeth and John, just talking while Sherlock played violin in the background.

Elizabeth was typing on the computer while John asked her funny questions, distracting her.

" _Stop."_ She said quietly as John got closer with the camera. She batted it away with her hand, almost making John drop it. " _I really need to pass this class, the deadline for this paper is tonight."_ That didn't seem to matter to John though. The camera went back, and Mary was able to see Elizabeth fully, sitting on the couch, her feet under John's leg as she typed. John's feet were on the table in front of him.

He did everything he could to try and distract her. Pushing her laptop so that it almost closed, poking her ankles. Mary enjoyed watching them both, John making Elizabeth smile. She would have loved to spend, what looked like a lazy day at Baker Street. Nothing to do. She never knew that Sherlock played the violin, and he played wonderfully. She would have loved to hear him play for herself.

What really tugged at her heartstrings, though, was the loud, joy filled laugh that came from Elizabeth as John made a face at her.

" _Are you drunk?"_ She asked him, still laughing.

" _Possibly._ " He answered, making her shake her head, trying to focus on her paper again.

" _Oh, leave her alone, John."_ Sherlock said, music stopping. " _If she looses focus we'll never hear the end of it."_

Elizabeth shot a glance at him, but laughed again, unable to keep the glare.

Mary put the phone down and closed her eyes, doing her best not to cry. Elizabeth was so happy, they were all happy. It broke her heart to see who they were and what they've become. How two people, so joyful could become what they were two people that were in the videos were not the two people she knew. But something told her that she would know them, in time.

XXXXXXXXX

 _Sorry if you cried, I cried a few times, I won't lie._

 _This is actually a scraped chapter from Another Watson. I decided not to put it on (I can't remember why), so I thought I would make it into a oneshot._


End file.
